


"CHiPs" 2017 Season 1/Episode 3 "Bonnie and Clyde"

by Firebuff51 (DCMUFics)



Series: "CHiPs" 2017 [3]
Category: CHiPs (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, California, Car Chases, Crimes & Criminals, Drama, Friendship, Gunplay, Humor, Los Angeles, Modern Retelling, Police Procedural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-26
Updated: 2017-07-26
Packaged: 2018-12-07 01:26:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11613054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DCMUFics/pseuds/Firebuff51
Summary: As an old friend returns to CHP Central, the officers must contend with a pair of bank robbing lovebirds who've come to make their fortune in Los Angeles. Meanwhile, a rock band shuts down the Hollywood freeway and a stolen replica of an iconic TV muscle car is racing around town, taunting California's Finest.





	"CHiPs" 2017 Season 1/Episode 3 "Bonnie and Clyde"

“ **CHiPS” 2017**

 

Episode 1.3

 

_ **Previously in "CHiPs"...** _

 

Central officers were involved in two dangerous pursuits that ultimately brought down a motorcycle theft ring.

 

Jon asked a celebrity out on a date.

 

Sindy completed her probation and became an official CHP motor officer.

 

Ponch and Bonnie cleared the air over Ponch's wager.

 

Monday.

 

“Man, I love it here,” Billy Dawkins laughed from behind the wheel of the Toyota Camry that he and his girlfriend Brandy Welch had stolen an hour earlier in Encino. “This time of year back home, we'd be freezin' our butts off. But the sun's always shinin' here. I'm glad you talked me into makin' the move.”

 

“I told ya, Billy Boy,” the petite blond replied from the shotgun seat. “Wasn't nothin' left for us back in Alabama. Plus, the cops were startin' to know who we were. L.A....well, L.A.'s the land of opportunity for people like us.”

 

Three blocks away, Steve McLeish stood in line at the juice bar, trying to decide between ordering a Tropical Blast or Strawberry Smoothie. He had missed the trivial comforts of home while he had been gone. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the shop's front window and didn't recognize himself. His shaggy brown hair and a full, bushy beard were soon to meet their demise when he headed to the barber shop later that afternoon.

 

As he returned his attention to the menu board above the counter, a blue Camry rolled into the mini-mall parking lot that the juice bar shared with several other businesses, including a small bank.

 

Billy backed the Camry into a parking spot facing the bank.

 

“You ready, baby?” Billy asked, slipping the black ski mask over his head.

 

Brandy loaded a clip into the .9mm pistol in her hand and chambered a round.

 

“You know me, Billy. I'm always ready.”

 

She pulled the mask down over her face and the couple emerged from the car. Billy held a sawed off shotgun low to his side as he followed his girlfriend across the parking lot.

 

She flung open the front door of the bank and aimed her gun at a security guard as they entered.

 

“Don't even think about it, Barney Fife!” she shouted. “Toss your gun and get your hands up!”

 

The guard reluctantly complied, drawing his pistol and tossing it at her feet. She quickly picked it up and tucked it into the back of her jeans.

 

“Alright, everybody on the floor!” Billy replied, holding the shotgun high for all in the bank to see. “Do it! Now!”

 

The few customers in the bank quickly dropped to the floor.

 

Brandy leveled her pistol at the woman behind one of the two teller windows.

 

“Okay, missy,” she said, tossing a green backpack onto the counter. “You fill that up and don't you stick any a them dye packs in there. This ain't my first rodeo.”

 

“Okay, just...please don't hurt me...” the teller replied weakly as she stuffed cash into the bag. “I have a baby at home...”

 

“I don't plan on makin' no orphans, sister. Just put that money in the bag and ain't nobody gonna hurt ya.”

 

XXXXXX

 

“Next!” the girl behind the counter of the juice shop called as Steve stepped up. Tropical Blast. That's what he would get.

 

As soon as he opened his mouth to order, he saw a man and woman in ski masks running across the parking lot, both armed.

 

“Call 9-1-1! Tell 'em there's been a robbery at the bank!” he said urgently before racing out the door.

 

As the Camry tore out of the parking lot, Steve slid in behind the wheel of his vintage Porsche Roadster. He backed out of the parking space and gave chase.

 

He reached into his pants pocket for his cell phone and realized that he had left it at home.

 

“Great!” he snapped as he pulled into traffic.

 

“Easy as pie!” Brandy laughed, pulling off her mask.

 

“Yeah? Maybe not,” Billy checked the rear view mirror. “We got a good Samaritan chasin' us.”

 

“Then punch it, baby!”

 

Frank Poncherello and Jon Baker rolled in tandem down the busy boulevard on their black and white BMW motorcycles.

 

“Come on, partner, spill!” Ponch called to Jon, who rode on his right. “You've been smiling non-stop since we came on.”

 

Jon shrugged as they stopped for a red light.

 

“Can't a guy just smile and not get questioned about it?”

 

“It's Ms. Movie Star, isn't?” Ponch laughed. “You guys went out again?”

 

“If you're referring to Ms. Vanessa Milan, then yes. We went out again,” Jon smirked. “And a gentleman never kisses and tells.”

 

Ponch raised a hand.

 

“Okay, I'll say no more. I'll...”

 

Just then, the Camry sped past, followed seconds later by Steve's maroon Porsche convertible.

 

“Here we go,” Jon said as he flipped on his bike's red and blue LED's.

 

He and Ponch gunned their engines and sped after the racing vehicles, sirens wailing.

 

“Oh great! Cops!” Billy called nervously.

 

“L.A., 15-7-Mary 3 and 4,” Jon called into his mic. “In pursuit of possible 23109 vehicles, northbound Dover approaching the 101 overpass. Blue Toyota Camry and a red Porsche convertible.”

 

An alert tone sounded over the CHP “Black” radio channel.

 

“ _Attention Ventura Freeway units, 7-Mary 3 and 4 are in pursuit of a blue Toyota Camry and red Porsche convertible, northbound Dover approaching the 101, wanted for possible 23109.”_

 

Steve checked his mirror and made an educated guess as to who the two motorcycle cops rolling up behind him were. He slowed, waving for them to pass.

 

Jon sped past as he continued his pursuit of the first car. Ponch pulled even with the convertible.

 

“Ponch! 211!” Steve called. “They're both armed!”

 

“Steve?” Ponch called, confused.

 

“Yeah, it's me!”

 

“Pull over! We'll be back!”

 

Steve waved in acknowledgment and pulled to the curb. Ponch accelerated.

 

“7-Mary 3, this 7-Mary 4, off duty officer reports the Camry is a 211 vehicle. Copy?”

 

“7-Mary-3, copy,” Jon replied, changing lanes. “L.A., 7-Mary-3, Camry is possibly involved in a 211. Requesting back up. We're now eastbound Pine from Dover.”

 

“This cop ain't givin' up!” Brandy called nervously as they approached a line of cars that had stopped for a railroad crossing.

 

“Don't worry, baby,” Billy gunned the engine. “We didn't come all the way to California to get locked up!”

 

“Billy! What are you doin'?!”

 

He swerved around the line of cars and headed straight for the lowered crossing arms. The prolonged wail of a train horn filled the air.

 

“You gotta be kiddin' me!” Jon said to himself as he stopped his motorcycle.

 

Billy steered the car onto a strip of gravel and around the crossing. He accelerated and drove over the railroad tracks as a freight train rapidly approached.

 

The Camry fishtailed as it crossed over the tracks and then drove back onto the street. Seconds later, the train thundered through the crossing, horn blaring.

 

“Baby, I love you!” Brandy squealed.

 

“I know you do!” Billy laughed.

 

Ponch cut his siren as he rolled up beside his partner.

 

“Did I just see that? I don't believe it!”

 

Jon grimaced as he stared straight ahead.

 

“Believe it.”

 

“ **Bonnie and Clyde”**

 

“Boy, was I glad to see you guys!” Steve called from the sidewalk as Ponch and Jon stepped from their bikes. “Did you get 'em?”

 

“Naw, they ditched us,” Jon unbuckled his chinstrap and slipped off his helmet. “Pattern search came up empty.”

 

“What can you tell us?” asked Ponch, flipping open a note pad.

 

“They were both wearing black ski masks,” said Steve, running a hand through his long hair. “They were a Bonnie and Clyde team, ya know? Woman was petite, maybe five-two. Male was about six foot. He had a sawed off. She had a handgun. That's about all I could get. No rear license on the Camry.”

 

“Well, we put out a broadcast,” said Jon. “Hopefully something turns up. Where the heck have ya been, Steve? We were starting to wonder if you were ever comin' back.”

 

“After the shooting...I just had to get my head straight. I needed to get out of L.A. for a while. My brother Toro's got a cabin up in the Sierras. I spent most of my leave up there.”

 

“Looks like you forgot to pack a razor!” Ponch laughed.

 

Steve chuckled.

 

“Yeah, I guess I got a little too in touch with nature.”

 

Sergeant Joe Getraer stopped his motorcycle at the curb.

 

“Bad news, fellas. LAPD found the Camry abandoned in an alley a couple miles north of here,” he said, stepping off of his bike. “Suspects were long gone.”

 

“Hey, Sarge.” Steve offered a quick wave.

 

“McLeish?” Getraer slipped off his dark sunglasses. “I hardly recognized you.”

 

“Yeah, I uh...”

 

“You're back tomorrow. I'd better see you clean shaven and with a regulation haircut.”

 

“Oh, yes sir.”

 

Getraer softened his demeanor and shook his hand.

 

“Welcome back, Steve. We missed ya.”

 

“Thanks, Sarge,” Steve exhaled. “I'm glad to be back.”

 

XXXXXX

 

Tuesday.

 

Steve sat at one of the long tables in the briefing room at Central. His face was smooth. His hair had been closely trimmed, parted on one side, tapered in the back and he wore sideburns that were just within department regulation.

 

He had said his hellos and shook hands with nearly everyone. Now he couldn't wait until briefing was over so that he could finally get back out on the freeways that he at one time had needed so desperately to get away from.

 

“Hi stranger,” said Sindy Cahill as she placed her helmet and gloves on the table and sat down beside him.

 

“Sindy!” Steve patted her on the back. “Great to see ya! You did it! You're a motor cop!”

 

“Yep. See? Got the boots and everything.”

 

Ponch and Jon took their seats at the table behind them.

 

“I thought you said you were gonna leave this alone, Ponch,” Jon sighed, pulling his extension mic over his shoulder and clipping it to his chest.

 

“Hey, I'm tryin', partner. But it isn't every day that a guy's best buddy is dating a celebrity. I'm just, ya know, curious.”

 

Steve turned around.

 

“You're dating a celebrity, Jon?”

 

Jon exhaled through pursed lips and looked at Ponch.

 

“Vanessa Milan,” Ponch said. “Can you believe it? She used to be on my favorite show, _The Troubled World_. She was Nancy, the nurse with a secret. Ah, it was great. See, it turned out that she was secretly in love with...”

 

“Sorry to interrupt, Poncherello, but it's time for briefing,” Getraer said as he entered and took his place at the podium at the front of the room.

 

The rest of the officers in the room sat up a bit straighter and several flipped open their notebooks.

 

“Okay, we have a movie shoot on the 10 freeway from the Franklin on ramp to DeLacey street.” Getraer studied his binder. “It's been in effect from 0500 and will run until 2100. Just an FYI. Next order of business, LAPD is still searching for the suspects from a 211 yesterday who eluded our very own officers Baker and Poncherello. It's a male/female team. They match the description of a team that committed a second robbery later in the day in Sherman Oaks. Male is a Caucasian, approximately six-feet, two hundred pounds, the female is also Caucasian, about five-two, a hundred and ten pounds. Weapons used were a sawed off 12 gauge and a pistol. Keep an eye out.”

 

Ponch and Jon exchanged discouraged glances.

 

“If they hadn't played chicken with a train, we might have nailed 'em,” Jon mumbled.

 

“And speaking of keeping an eye out,” the sergeant continued. “we have a BOLO from the Sheriffs Department. This morning, a 1969 Dodge Charger was stolen from the parking lot of a 7-11 in Newhall. What's so special about this vehicle? It's orange, with a black “01” painted on each door and a...”  
  
“The General Lee!” Artie Grossman said excitedly. “One of the greatest TV muscle cars of all time!”

 

“Okay, settle down, Grossman. The car stolen is a _Dukes of Hazzard_ replica that was en route from Fresno to Pasadena for a car show at the Rose Bowl this weekend. It's unknown whether it was joyriders who took it or someone looking to cash in. A car like that can't be easy to hide, so be vigilant. Lastly, let's all welcome back Officer Steve McLeish. You were missed.”

 

The officers in the room applauded politely as Steve nodded and forced a smile.

 

Getraer closed his binder.

 

“Steve, you'll be riding with Sindy. That's it, crime fighters. Dismissed.”

 

Sindy gathered her helmet, gloves and notebook as she stood.

 

“Come on, partner. You can fill me in on your adventures away from Central.”

 

Steve shrugged

 

“Not much to tell really.”

 

Ponch and Jon watched them leave.

 

“You really think Steve's okay?” Ponch asked quietly.

 

Jon nodded.

 

“Yeah, I'm sure he's fine. It'll probably just take him a while to get back into the swing of things. You know how it is.”

 

“Yeah. I guess you're right.”

 

“Hey, if anybody manages to find the General Lee, can you give me a shout?” Grossman asked the room. “I'd really love to take a selfie with it.”

 

“You're one of a kind, Grossie,” Barry Baricza said as he stepped past him.

 

Jeb Turner chuckled.

 

“That's probably a good thing!”

 

XXXXXX

 

Billy was awakened by something landing on his chest. He pushed the brown plastic bag aside as he ran a hand through his shaggy brown hair.

 

“What the hell, woman?” he yawned.

 

Brandy took a seat on top of the motel room dresser.

 

“I bring you breakfast in bed and that's the thanks I get?”

 

“Liquor store danish ain't breakfast in bed.”

 

She took a bite of her cheese danish.

 

“Put a ring on mah finger and I'll make you bacon and eggs every mornin', baby.”

 

He sat up and rubbed his eyes.

 

“I told you, we ain't gettin' hitched 'til I can take care of my girl proper. Get set up with a nice house and the whole bit.”

 

She swung her legs back and forth.

 

“What, you gonna be an insurance salesman, Billy? Settle into some nine to five job? That ain't you baby, and it ain't me. So how you gonna take care a me proper?”

 

He bit into a danish and stared at the ceiling as he chewed.

 

“We need a big score. Somethin' that can set us up for a while.”

 

She hopped off of the dresser and climbed onto the bed.

 

“Well, until then, how about we pull us off another job like the ones we did yesterday? That money ain't gonna last forever. This city is expensive.”

 

“We should lay low for a few days,” Billy sighed.

 

She leaned in and kissed him deeply. He broke the kiss and rested his head on the pillow.

 

“Okay,” he laughed. “We'll do another one.”

 

XXXXXX

 

Ponch and Jon changed lanes before pulling even with each other as they navigated the morning freeway traffic.

 

“Look, we had a nice night, alright?” Jon called above the wind that zipped between them.

 

“I thought you didn't wanna talk about it.” Ponch replied.

 

Jon shrugged.

 

“I just don't wanna make a big deal out of it, you know? I mean, me dating an actress and all. I don't want to seem star struck. That's not me.”

 

“Perish the thought, partner,” Ponch laughed.

 

“We're going out tonight,” said Jon. “Some upscale dining club in Beverly Hills.”

 

Ponch flashed a pearly white smile.

 

“Bring me a doggy bag?”

 

Jon smirked.

 

“I'll see what I can do.”

 

“ _Attention Hollywood Freeway units_ ,” their radios squawked. “ _11-25/possible 11-26, southbound 101 at Sunset, multiple reports of a black truck or van blocking three lanes. Units to handle identify._ ”

 

“L.A., 7-Mary-3 and 4 responding,” Ponch answered. “Southbound 101, passing Lincoln _._ ”

 

The officers changed lanes as they sped forward.

 

XXXXXX

 

Minutes later, they navigated the space between the center divider and what had now become four columns of snarled traffic. They came to a stop to see a

large black party bus, parked diagonally across all lanes. Two speakers were mounted on top of the bus, blaring rock music played by a four member band that stood between the speakers.

 

“L.A., 15-7, Mary-3 and 4, 10-97 Southbound 101 at Sunset,” Jon called as Ponch stepped from his bike beside him. “Roll two additional units for 11-84 and put out a Sig-Alert.”

 

“Hey!” Ponch called to a man with a video camera pointed up at the band. “Hey! What do you think you're doing?”

 

“History, man, history!” the bearded man said, ignoring Ponch as he continued to film the band, whose lead singer mugged for the camera. “It's the first time a music video has been shot guerilla style in the middle of an active freeway and my boys, The Cursed Kings are the ones who did it!”

 

“I don't care who's doing it, shut it down,” Ponch said forcefully, placing his black gloved hand over the camera's lense.  
  


“Hey! You can't do that! This is police harassment!” the man growled.

 

“You heard my partner, Sir. Shut it down. Now,” Jon said sternly as he approached. “Cut the music and tell 'em to come down from the bus. You can't shut down traffic like this. This little stunt of yours is over.”

 

“Oh really, Officer Tough Guy?” the man replied as he stared Jon down. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

 

Ponch looked back at Jon.

 

“What are...is he serious?” he asked, as he pulled the handcuffs from his belt before returning his attention to the man. “Put down the camera. Turn around, hands behind your head.”

 

A black and white Ford Explorer arrived from the opposite direction, via the empty off ramp. Bonnie Clark and Gene Fritz emerged from the SUV.

 

Fritz smiled as he closed his door.

 

“See, this is one of those _Only in L.A._ things...”

 

Bonnie nodded.

 

“Yeah, we never saw anything like this in Napa.”

 

Ponch pulled the band manager's arms behind his back, causing the man to drop his video camera.

 

“Hey! The State of California just bought me a camera, you stormtrooper!”

 

Ponch handcuffed him.

 

“Send the Governor a receipt.”

 

“Keep playin', boys!” the manager shouted up at the band. “Don't let The Man keep you down!”

 

Jon slipped off his helmet and pointed up at the lead singer.

 

“Everybody down!” he shouted, straining to be heard above the blaring music.

 

The lead singer, a skinny young man with stringy black hair and several facial piercings, shrugged and pointed to his ear as if he couldn't hear Jon's directions.

 

“Kill the music and come down!” Jon ordered.

 

The singer smiled insincerely and shook his head.

 

“How you wanna handle it, partner?” asked Ponch as he handed his prisoner off to Fritz.

 

“If they won't kill it, I'll do it for 'em.”

 

Jon opened the driver's door of the bus and climbed inside. He stepped into the passenger compartment to see, as he had expected, a portable generator with extension cords leading up to a hatch in the bus's roof.

 

He switched off the generator and yanked out every extension cord. The blaring music from above abruptly stopped, replaced with the annoyed moans and complaints of four young musicians.

 

“Like I said,” Jon called. “Everybody down. Show's over.”

 

XXXXXX

 

Sindy and Steve sat side by side on their motorcycles, watching the morning traffic pass by from their spot on the dirt shoulder of the avenue.

 

Sindy aimed the LIDAR gun at a blue convertible and peered through the scope as she pulled the trigger.

 

“35,” she said, reading the display that revealed the speed of the car as it passed. “It's like people slow down when they see cops or something.”

 

“So, who was your MTO?” asked Steve, searching for small talk.

 

Sindy lowered the LIDAR and smirked at him over her shoulder.

 

“Grossie.”

 

“ _Grossman_ was your training officer?” he chuckled. “That must have been fun.”

 

“Actually, he wasn't bad. He was a stickler, though. Plus, he kept trying to convince me to play _Magic: The Gathering_ with him and Harlan.”

 

Steve smiled to himself as he absentmindedly picked at the Velcro strap on one of his gloves.

 

“I actually missed those knuckleheads.”

 

Sindy returned her attention to the traffic before them.

 

“Everybody missed you, too. How're you doing?”

 

Steve slipped off his Oakleys and sighed.

 

“I'm good. The last thing that I ever wanted to do in this job was to take a life, but I didn't have any choice. After I was cleared, I just needed some time away to see if I still had it in me to come back to the Patrol or maybe do something else.”

 

“Looks like you decided.”  
  
He smiled as he tugged at his shirt.

 

“Well, I look good in uniform.”

 

A red Volkswagen rolled past the stop sign at the corner and cruised past them.

 

“Shall we?” Sindy called, placing the LIDAR gun back into its cradle.

 

Steve chuckled, slipping his shades back on.

 

“Let's!”

 

They started up their motors and pulled into traffic. They quickly flashed their LED's as they fell in behind the car, which continued to drive slowly for several blocks.

 

Steve blasted his siren several times, yet the car continued rolling down the avenue at a snail's pace. Ultimately he pulled alongside the car and pointed for the driver to pull over.

 

The dazed looking young man behind the wheel nodded in recognition and pulled to the curb.

 

“L.A., 15-7-Mary-8 and 9,” he called, dropping his kickstand. “Show us 10-10, Victory south of Main. Older black Mustang, California, George-William-Yellow-3-8-9.”

 

“Senior citizen?” asked Sindy, stepping off of her bike.

 

“Looks like a couple of kids,” Steve replied. “Would you like the honors?”

  
“I'm flattered,” Sindy grinned.

 

Steve stepped onto the sidewalk as Sindy approached the driver's window which was rolled up. The driver was a young man with curly blond hair who gripped the steering wheel and stared straight ahead.

 

Steve noticed that the passenger, a young man with long brown hair also stared straight ahead.

 

Sindy rested her hand on the grip of her holstered pistol as she tapped on the window.

 

“Sir, roll down your window please.”

 

Reluctantly, the driver complied. As the window lowered, a light haze drifted out of the car. Sindy winced as her senses were assaulted by the pungent aroma of marijuana.

 

The driver stared up at her sheepishly with red eyes.

 

“Really, dude?” Sindy asked, covering her mouth and nose with the back of her gloved hand.

 

“Umm...it's medicinal?” the driver coughed.

 

“Yeah...totally,” the passenger nodded quickly. “Medicine. Medish...what he said.”

 

“Step out of the car.” she ordered.

 

The driver lowered his head.

 

“I told you it wouldn't work,” he whined to his companion.

 

“Dude...I'm so hungry.” the passenger replied.

 

Steve knocked on the passenger's window.

 

“You too, outta the car.”

 

After both men had stepped onto the sidewalk, Sindy directed the driver to stand in front of her.  
  
“I'm pretty sure of the results, but I'm going to have to give you a field sobriety test anyway, Sir.”  
  
“Oh man, I'm so bad at tests,” the young man whined.

 

Just then, a musical car horn blared, playing the opening notes of _Dixie._ An orange, 1969 Dodge Charger roared past them on the cross street.

 

“Great!” Sindy threw up her arms. “There it goes and we're stuck here babysitting _Dazed and Confused.”_

 

“L.A., 7-Mary-8 _,”_ Steve called into his shoulder mic. _“_ 10851 vehicle just passed us. Orange, '69 Dodge Charger, with a large zero one on the door, eastbound Main from Victory.”

 

The passenger watched the car as it disappeared from sight.

 

“Wait...was that the Dukes of Hazzard car?”

 

XXXXXX

 

Ponch sat slumped on his couch in his gym shorts, sock feet propped on the coffee table, watching a _novela_ on television, while using chopsticks to eat Cheetos from a large bowl on his lap.

 

There was a knock at the door.

 

“It's open!”, he called.

 

Jon walked in and closed the door.

 

“Hey, Ponch,” he gestured towards the stacks of cardboard boxes that surrounded the room. “Still haven't unpacked yet?”

 

“Just the stuff that matters. Clothes, TV, my Playstation. What's with the long face, partner?”

 

Jon tossed a small paper bag to Ponch, who set aside the bowl of cheese puffs and happily peered inside.

 

“What's this?”

 

Jon carefully stepped past a pile of boxes and sat down on the couch.

 

“The rest of my duck a l'orange. The only good thing about my date tonight.”

 

Ponch put the bag aside and offered the bowl of puffs to Jon who declined.

 

“Didn't go too well, huh?”

 

“We had dinner with some of Vanessa's friends. They decided to use me as a sounding board for all of their problems with cops. I tried to take it all in stride, but after a while, I got a little hot under the collar. Vanessa couldn't understand why.”

 

Ponch picked a Cheeto off of his chest and tossed it into his mouth.

 

“Well, ya can't blame 'em I guess. Most people don't know any cops. They hardly ever meet us in social situations.”

 

“Yeah, but it was the stuff that they were throwing at me. That tired old junk about ticket quotas and how come we always protect bad cops. I mean, I've never stuck up for a bad cop in my life. We hate bad cops more than anybody, but I couldn't get them to understand that and Vanessa wasn't much help. I get the feeling that she was only dating me for the novelty of it.”

 

“ _Was?_ ”

 

“Yep. Pretty sure it's over and done between us.”

 

Ponch tossed another Cheeto into his mouth.

 

“Well, ya still got me, partner.”

 

Jon laughed and propped his feet on the table as he sank back into the couch.

 

“Why doesn't that make me feel any better?”

 

Ponch dumped the leftover duck into the bowl of Cheetos.

 

XXXXXX

 

The next morning, Billy and Brandy woke up early and dined on McMuffins in bed as they planned their day. They got dressed, tossed their guns and ski masks into a gym bag and kissed each other passionately before skipping off across the motel parking lot, hand in hand.

 

XXXXXX

 

Fritz stepped from the doughnut shop and crossed the parking lot carrying two coffees and a small white bag that he handed to his partner as she leaned against Jeb Turner's black and white cruiser.

 

“Aw, you got me the sprinkles,” Bonnie smiled as she took the doughnut from the bag.

 

“Hey, a good cop know his partner's doughnut preferences,” Fritz laughed.

 

“You two are just perpetuating a negative stereotype,” said Jeb as he sat with his door open, entering a report on his unit's computer. “Cops and doughnuts.”

 

“Well, some stereotypes have basis in reality brother,” Fritz laughed. “And anyway, the only time that I get to eat these is when I'm at work. You wouldn't believe how much kale my wife makes me eat.”

 

Bonnie sipped her coffee.

 

“Kale's so good for you, though.”

 

Fritz bit into his apple fritter.

 

“It don't taste like it's good for me.”

 

Bonnie glanced over her shoulder to see that a familiar orange car had pulled to a stop in the intersection.

 

“Guys, three o'clock,” she said urgently.

 

The officers followed her gaze to see the General Lee parked beneath a red stop light.

 

The two men inside the car stared back. The driver revved the engine.

 

“They're callin' us out!” Fritz called as he tossed his coffee and fritter into the trash can and rounded the front of the Explorer. Bonnie climbed in beside him as Jeb slammed the door of his patrol car.

 

The General Lee sounded it's horn and peeled off through the intersection. Fritz threw the SUV into reverse and then roared out of the parking lot, lights flashing and siren blaring, followed by Jeb's cruiser

 

“L.A., 15-5-Boy,” Bonnie called, simultaneously snatching the mic from its cradle and pulling on her seat belt. “show us in pursuit of a 10851 orange Dodge Charger, no plates, northbound Riverside from 10th.”

 

“15-6-2, backing,” Jeb's voice called from the radio.

 

Four blocks away, Steve and Sindy had just exited the freeway.

 

“They're headed our way,” said Steve as he and Sindy stopped at the bottom of the off-ramp.

 

The Charger raced past them, followed by the pursing units.

 

“L.A., 15 Mary 8 and 9 backing 15-5-Boy,” Sindy called into the mic attached to her helmet as she and her partner accelerated after them, sirens screaming.

 

The stolen vehicle turned a hard left, losing a hubcap in the process that spiraled across the intersection. The pursuit continued along the same stretch of road for a quarter of a mile until the suspects sped around a sedan that had stopped for a red light and cut diagonally across the intersection amid screeching tires and honking horns. They drove through a gas station parking lot and turned onto the cross street which enabled Sindy and Steve to overtake the two black and whites.

 

“L.A., 15-5, pursuit is now eastbound Colton from Oak, 70 miles per hour,” Bonnie reported, bracing one hand against the dashboard. “Man, this guy knows how to drive.”  
  
Fritz laughed.

 

“Dem Dukes! Dem Dukes!”

 

The suspects turned right onto the next street. Sindy and Steve leaned into the turn doing their best to keep pace. The General Lee raced down a side street and then skidded to a halt as it arrived in a cul-de-sac.

 

“They're gonna bail!” Sindy called.

 

“Don't bet on it,” Steve replied.

 

The Chargers' tires squealed as it backed up at a high rate of speed directly at the officers. Steve veered left as Sindy swerved to the right. The black and whites were forced to pull to the curb to avoid the speeding vehicle. The suspects backed up into the intersection, then turned and sped off southbound.

 

Sindy and Steve executed a near figure eight as they changed directions and continued after them. The other patrol units pulled U-turns and rejoined the pursuit.

 

“L.A., 15-Mary-9, pursuit is now southbound Garfield from Lake,” Sindy reported.

 

The General Lee turned right and raced down a hill towards a busy cross street. A delivery truck pulled into the intersection, forcing the stolen car to swerve to the right where it ran up over a sidewalk and was launched into the air. It sailed over an embankment and crashed nose first into the dirt lot of a construction site where it rolled over twice before coming to a rest on its roof.

 

Sindy and Steve stopped a few feet away and stepped from their bikes with guns drawn.

 

“Show me your hands!” Steve shouted. “Get your hands up!”

 

The car thieves, two young men in their twenties, one Hispanic, one white, wearily crawled out of the overturned car and complied, raising their hands above their heads.

 

The other officers emerged from their vehicles, weapons raised. They covered the two motor officers as they handcuffed the suspects and pulled them to their feet.

 

“We were just gonna take it out for a joy ride and ditch it,” said the Hispanic suspect.

 

“Then why didn't you?” asked Steve.

 

The second suspect shrugged as he looked up at the officers.

 

“We were just having too much fun.”

 

Jeb opened the rear door of his patrol car.

 

“That fun almost got you killed,” he said coolly, as the young men were placed inside.

 

Grossman rolled up on his motorcycle and stopped just a few feet away. He stared in disbelief at the wreckage of the General Lee.

 

Sindy pulled open her chinstrap and slipped off her helmet.

 

“Go ahead, Grossie,” she smiled. “You can take that selfie now.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve hooked his thumbs over his belt buckle. “I can hold your phone for you, if you want.”

 

Grossman's shoulders sank.

 

“It's not fair. It's just not fair.”

 

XXXXXX

 

“Everybody, on the floor!” Billy shouted as he and his significant other marched into the Wells Fargo branch with their weapons held high. “We are robbin' y'all!”

 

The ten patrons and six employees inside the bank complied and dropped to the floor, save for a security guard who had ducked behind a desk when he saw the masked duo enter the building.

 

Brandy pointed her pistol at the nearest teller and tossed the gym bag onto the counter.

 

“Fill it up, mister! No dye packs!”

 

The teller nodded and began to nervously fill the bag with stacks of cash. The guard drew his sidearm and leveled it over the desk at Billy.

 

“Drop the gun!”

 

Billy whirled and fired the sawed off shotgun blindly, shattering the pot of an artificial plant on top of a filing cabinet. The guard ducked for cover behind the desk, and when he reemerged to return fire, Brandy released two rounds, one of which struck the guard in the chest and he collapsed.

 

“Don't you go pointin' no gun at my baby, Mister Rent-A-Cop!”, she screamed.

 

“Come on! We gotta go!” Billy said as he slipped the bag of cash over his shoulder and grabbed Brandy's arm. “Now! Let's go!”

 

They dashed out of the bank and piled into the stolen Buick that was parked outside. The bank employees rushed to aid the guard who sat up clutching his chest.

 

“It hit my vest,” he gasped. “It hit my vest.”

 

Ponch and Jon cruised alongside each other down the 405 freeway as their radios came to life.

 

“ _Attention Central L.A. Units, LAPD reports a 211 occurred two ago, from 4331 Ventura Boulevard. Suspects are one male and one female wearing ski masks, NFD, armed with a shotgun and pistol. Last seen westbound Ventura from Lawson in an older model maroon Buick Century, partial plate of 7-Victor-Paul. Nothing further. KRB411 is clear at 1304._ ”

 

“Looks like Steve's Bonnie and Clyde team are at it again,” Jon called.

 

“That intersection's about a mile away,” Ponch replied as he rode on his left. “Ten bucks says they hopped on the freeway.”

 

Jon nodded.

 

“Page One of the bank robber's handbook. Use the freeway for an escape route.”

 

Half a mile behind them, Billy and Brandy sped through the afternoon traffic.

 

“Why the hell did you do that, Brandy Lee?!” Billy snapped.

 

“He was gonna shoot you, Billy!” Brandy fired back. “'Scuse me for not wantin' to see the father of my future children filled full a lead!”

 

“I'm not sayin' I ain't grateful, baby, but we might be lookin' at a murder charge now!”

 

“Okay, fine! So I guess we get outta California, then. Mexico ain't that far.”

 

“Brandy, I am not goin' to no Mexico. I don't speak that El Spanish and tacos upset my damned stomach!”

 

“Fine!” she pulled the bag of cash from the back seat. “We can go to Vegas, then, we got plenty a money.”

 

The bickering couple failed to notice that they had just passed two CHP motorcycle officers.

 

“Right on cue,” said Jon as they changed lanes. “L.A., 15-7-Mary 3 and 4, we've got the 211 vehicle, number 2 lane, northbound 405 approaching Palmer. Maroon Buick Century, California 7-Victor-Paul-9-1-7.”

 

“ _Attention San Diego freeway units,_ ” the dispatcher announced. “ _7-Mary 3 and 4 have a possible 211 vehicle northbound 405 from Palmer. Units to assist, identify._ ”

 

The officers pulled back a few car lengths, using the vehicles ahead of them for cover.

 

“ _15-7, show me backing from Magnolia at the 405 on,_ ” replied Baricza.

 

“ _23-King, responding from the Robertson overpass_ ,” added Pete Tanaka, Central's K-9 handler.

 

“7- _Mary 3 and 4, 7-Victor-Paul-9-1-7, comes back as an LAPD stolen out of Van Nuys_ ,” reported the dispatcher.

 

“You can relax, Billy Boy,” Brandy said as her boyfriend glanced over his shoulder. “Ain't no cops followin' us. We're good. We ditch this bucket and we'll be fine.”

 

“I know you're right, baby, but I...” as Billy studied the rear view mirror, he could see the minivan behind them change lanes to reveal the officers several lengths behind them. “Aw no. There's Chippies right behind us!”

 

“Chippers? What?”

 

“State troopers, Brandy Lee! Chippies is what they call 'em out here and they's two of 'em right behind us!”

 

She stole a look over her shoulder and then stared straight ahead.

 

“Act cool, baby. Just...be cool and they won't suspect a thing. Get off the freeway up here and we'll ditch 'em.”

 

“They saw us,” Ponch sighed.

 

“Act cool?” Billy sneered. “You remember we're in a stolen car, right? I bet they called in our plate by now and everything!”

 

Brandy anxiously drummed her fingers on the door panel.

 

“Alright, then floor it.”

 

Billy gunned the engine and changed lanes, cutting off another car in the process.

 

“Here we go,” called Ponch as he activated his lights and siren. “L.A., 7-Mary 3 and 4, now in pursuit of possible 211 vehicle, northbound 405 passing Ardmore.”

 

The suspect vehicle careened down the off ramp and turned right. The motor officers zipped after them, followed by Baricza's cruiser.

 

“Is that a mall up ahead?” Billy demanded.

 

“It looks like one!” Brandy replied. “Come on! We gotta lose 'em!”

 

“I got an idea!”

 

He cut across two lanes of traffic, causing two cars to nearly collide with each other.

 

Ponch and Jon maneuvered around the cars and raced to catch up with the suspect vehicle which turned into the parking structure of a two story shopping mall.

 

As the officers rolled to a stop inside the parking structure, they found the Buick, doors open and engine running, parked near a suspended walkway that led into the mall's second floor entrance.

 

“L.A., 7-Mary-3,” Jon called. “Suspects bailed inside the parking structure of the Foothill Mall. Notify LAPD. Requesting additional units to set up a perimeter and perform a search.”

 

Baricza stopped his black and white Charger beside them.

 

“What do you think?” he asked, stepping out.

 

“They couldn't have gotten far,” said Ponch. “We'll take a spin through the parking structure and-”

 

The glass doors swung open and several people ran outside.

 

“There's people with guns!” a terrified woman shouted at the officers as she ran towards them. “A man and a woman! They were waving guns around!”

 

Ponch and Jon quickly slipped off their helmets as they stepped from their bikes.

 

“L.A., 15-Mary-3, citizens report suspects have entered the mall,” Jon said as he keyed the mic on his chest. “Mary-3, Mary-4 and 15-7 will be making entry now, second floor, east entrance, switching to Blue frequency.”

 

Baricza retrieved the patrol rifle from his cruiser and followed Ponch and Jon as they approached the entrance, guns drawn.

 

“Go for it,” he said, holding the rifle against his shoulder. “I've got your six.”

 

Jon nodded and pulled open the door. The three officers entered and made their way along the side wall of a shoe store. As they peered around the corner, a second throng of mall patrons ran past them.

 

Pete cut his siren as he stopped his patrol car at the mall's main entrance.

 

“23-King is 10-97 at Foothill mall,” he informed the dispatcher, opening the back door so his German Shepherd partner could hop out. “Come on, Bruno. Let's go catch some bad guys!”

 

“Which way did they go?” Ponch shouted to a young mall security officer who vainly attempted to lead an orderly evacuation.

 

“Uh, I...I'm not sure,” the guard responded. “One of the other guards said that they just ran through the food court.”

 

The officers rushed forward as another wave of frightened people ran in the opposite direction.

 

Pete descended the stairs into the middle of the mall's second floor rotunda and nodded to the approaching officers.

 

“Guard said they ran through here,” Jon said as the officers met up just outside of the food court. “Teams of two. Me and Ponch'll go right, Bear, you and Pete go left. Watch your crossfire.”

 

The group of officers split up, moving through each side of the food court. They cautiously made their way past the abandoned tables and overturned chairs.

 

Shots rang out at the far end of the food court.

 

“7-Mary-3, we've got shots fired on the west side of the food court,” Jon reported as they quickly moved forward.

 

The food court led to an L-shaped corridor which opened onto another concourse. The officers rounded the corner to find a security guard hiding behind a trash can.

 

“I put my hands up and she shot at me anyway!” said the guard.

 

“Are you hit?” asked Ponch.

 

“No, she missed me.”

 

“Alright, then go back that way, now!”

 

The guard scrambled to his feet and ran back towards the food court. There were four shops on either side of the concourse, leading to a dead end. Three of the shops had closed their security gates. The fourth shop, a record store, was still wide open.

 

“They've gotta be in there,” Baricza said as the officers stacked up behind a seven foot tall directory sign.

 

“L.A., 7-Mary-3,” Jon called. “Notify LAPD and incoming units that we may have the suspects cornered inside of the record store on the west side of the mall, second floor.”

 

“Me and Bruno can use the escalator for cover,” said Pete. “It'll give us a better vantage point. Baricza can cover us.”

 

“Alright, do it,” said Jon. “Keep your heads down.”

 

Pete and Baricza stayed low and jogged to the escalator, with Bruno trotting after them.

 

“Why did you shoot at that guard?” Billy whispered angrily as he and Brandy crouched behind a rack inside the vacated record store. “Whattaya got against security guards? That one ain't even had a gun!”

 

“You don't know, Billy Boy, he mighta had a piece strapped on his ankle!” she snapped back.

 

“A mall cop ain't gonna have no gun on him!”

 

“Shut up!” she hissed as she stood and looked up over the rack.

 

“Got her,” Pete quietly spoke into his mic. “Female white, blond hair, just peeked over a rack.”

 

Ponch and Jon emerged from behind the sign and rushed forward, taking cover in the doorway of the shop beside the record store.

 

“Damn! Damn! Damn!” Brandy whispered as she quickly dropped back into a crouch. “There's a cop by that escalator. I think he done saw me.”

 

“We gotta give ourselves up, Brandy Lee, that's all there is to it.”

 

“I ain't givin' up!”

 

“Are you crazy? We ain't got no choice, baby! We're beat. I ain't fixin' to die behind this!”

 

Brandy glared back at him coldly.

 

“Well then, you do what you gotta do, Billy.”

 

Billy stared at his girlfriend as if he were gazing upon her for the first time. He laid the shotgun down on the tile floor, then raised his hands as he walked towards the exit.

 

“I ain't got no gun!” he said, stepping out, hands above his head.

 

“Turn around! Walk backwards to the sound of my voice!” Jon called. “On your knees!”

 

Billy complied with Jon's further instructions. He was then handcuffed and passed to several newly arrived LAPD officers.

 

“She's still got a gun!” Billy called to the officers. “Please don't hurt 'er! She's my world!”

 

“You inside the store! Come out now! Hands in the air!” Ponch called, only to be met with silence.

 

“ _Blaffen_!” Pete called in Dutch to Bruno who responded by barking loudly. “Come out now or I'll send in my dog!”

 

When they were met with no reply, Pete looked to Jon, the most senior officer on scene, who nodded in the affirmative.

 

Pete un-clipped the dog's leash.

 

“ _Stellen_!”

 

Bruno raced into the record store, followed by Pete and Baricza who kept their weapons trained before them.

 

Seconds later, Brandy shrieked as the German Shepherd sank his teeth into her right forearm, dragging her out from behind a rack.

 

“Okay! Okay! I give up!” she howled, dropping her pistol.

 

Pete called off his dog then pinned the woman's arms behind her back as he handcuffed her.

 

“Damn! The cops in Alabama was mean, but they ain't sic no dogs on us!” Brandy sobbed as Baricza led her out of the store.

 

“L.A., 7-Mary-3, Code-4,” Jon called as he holstered his Glock .40. “two in custody. You can have the frequency back.”

 

An LAPD sergeant stepped forward and offered his hand.

 

“Nice work,” he smiled. “I guess you Chippies do more than cut citations after all.”

 

“We like to get off of the freeways once in a while,” Ponch smirked. “Breaks up the monotony.”

 

XXXXXX

 

“Arthur, what exactly is your problem?” asked Cora Hutchins as Grossman sat with a forlorn expression at the bar of the restaurant that she owned with her husband Derk. “You have had that hang dog expression on your face ever since you came in here tonight. You've hardly touched your beer.”

 

“Aw, I'm sorry, Cora,” he sighed, staring at the glass before him. “It's just that, I finally had the chance to see the General Lee, an icon from my childhood, in person, and when I got there, it was totaled at the end of a pursuit.”

 

Derk stepped up beside his wife and arched an eyebrow.

 

“Grossman, ya do know that was a replica, right? Heck, when they filmed the show, they used dozens of 'em. I worked traffic control for a Dukes of Hazzard shoot out in the Valley once, they had six a them cars, identical, all lined up.”

 

Grossman shrugged.

 

“I know it's dumb, Derk, but when I was a kid, I didn't have a lot of friends, so I watched a lot of TV. I don't know if I can explain exactly what I'm-”

 

Derk placed a business card in front of him. Grossman inspected it.

 

“What's this?”

 

“That,” Derk said, lifting Grossman's glass and placing it on a coaster. “is the phone number of a good friend of mine who's a car collector out in Ventura County. He has a show used General Lee that he restored and you are welcome to visit him and see it in person. I told him to expect your call.”

 

“Wow! Derk, I don't know how to thank you!”

 

Derk handed him a laminated menu.

 

“Ya wanna thank me, order something besides a beer. Cora's awful proud of her western omelet.”

 

“It's true. I am,” Cora chimed in. “Brought the eggs in from my own hen house this morning.”

 

Grossman nodded.

 

“An omelet sounds good!”

 

Ponch and Jon sat at a nearby booth. Jon sipped his beer as he watched his partner devour a western omelet.

 

“I can't believe how often you eat.”

 

“Hey, Cora said to try the omelet, so I did. I didn't wanna be rude,” he raised his voice as he lifted his fork. “It's delicious by the way!”

 

“Thank you, Frank!” Cora called from the bar, blowing him a kiss.

 

“Besides,” Ponch continued. “I'm celebrating. The good guys won today. We took down two bank robbers who were wanted in four states and we did it without firing a shot.”

 

“Yeah, I guess you're right, Ponch. This whole thing with Vanessa just has me a little down.”

 

“I got the cure for that,” Ponch pulled the cell phone from his pocket and tapped the screen. He slid the phone to his partner.

 

“What am I Iookin' at?” asked Jon.

 

“That, Jonathon, is the Twitter account for a nice girl that I've been conversing with named Brenda. She's one of the Rams' cheerleaders. Tap the next picture...and _that_ girl is her friend Paige. We've got a double date with them Friday night, and unlike Vanessa, they love cops.”

 

Jon smiled as he stared at the phone. He held out his fist and Ponch bumped it.

 

“You're a good friend, Ponch.”

 

“I've always got your back, partner.”

 

Sindy dropped down onto the bench beside Jon.

 

“Okay, who's buyin' a girl a drink?”

 

“Two girls,” added Bonnie, sitting down beside Ponch.

 

“I think I can swing it,” said Jon. “Where's Steve, Sindy? We were gonna buy him a few to welcome him back.”

 

Sindy shrugged as she snatched a piece of ham from Ponch's plate and tossed it into her mouth.

 

“I asked him to come out with us, but he said he was beat, just wanted to get home.”

 

Several miles away, Steve parked underneath the Santa Monica Freeway overpass and stepped from his Roadster. The evening traffic roared overheard.

 

He stood in the street, ten feet from the curb and stared at the ground. It was at this exact spot, months ago, that he had shot and killed a man.

 

He had pulled the young man over for an unsafe lane change. It was nearing the end of Steve's shift and he had decided that, pending a records check, he would simply send the driver on his way with only a verbal warning.

 

Unknown to Steve, the driver was a wanted gang member. The man exited his car with a gun in his hand. Steve reacted swiftly, drawing his sidearm and firing, killing him on the spot.

 

It was over in seconds, but it seemed so much slower. He could still remember the smell of gunpowder as it hung in the air. He had taken a life, something he could never have imagined doing, growing up in a well to do west side family.

 

He had taken a long leave of absence, to do some soul searching and to decide if being a cop is something that he could still do. Ultimately, he had joined the California Highway Patrol for two reasons, to ride fast motorcycles and to use them to catch bad people. In the blink of an eye, one of those bad people had tried to take both of those things from him.

 

He felt terrible, knowing that he had taken another person's life. He also knew that he had no choice. Steve had returned to work because he knew that there were still a lot of bad people left for him to chase. He also came back for this moment, to stand at this spot where he had nearly been killed, to remind himself that he was a survivor.

 

An LAPD cruiser rolled to a stop and the officer behind the wheel shined a spotlight on him.

 

“Everything all right, Sir?”

 

Steve nodded and held up his wallet to reveal the seven pointed star that was his CHP badge.

 

“Yeah, I'm okay,” he said reassuringly. “I'm a cop.”

 

**END**

 

This is a work of fiction, any similarities to actual persons, places or incidents is purely coincidental. All legal and law enforcement information may not be accurate.

 


End file.
